Turning Back
by RedDevilGirl
Summary: Missing Scene for 6x05 - Dean's human again.   Samuel's back here to do a job.  And he isn't quite sure what his relationship should be with these two guys he can apparently call his grandsons - but he knows they need his help.  Hurt!Dean to follow!


**I've not written anything for seriously ages... I reckon maybe about 18 months! And I don't usually write tags etc until I know exactly what the writers have got in mind... but I couldn't resist this one. **

**I just want to say, I'm not anti-Sam. At all. Whatever's going on with Sam is breaking my heart as much as the next person. This isn't meant to be an 'Evil Sam' fic or anything like that, and I'm not sure that Samuel will turn out to be the good guy. At all. But I started writing and this is where it went! **

**So this is Dean's 'cure' from Samuel's point of view. I realise this may become AU as early as tomorrow with the airing of the next episode, so I thought I'd get it on here quickly before it became obsolete! Be gentle with me, I'm just getting back into it :0)**

**Sarah **

Samuel hauled his grandson's arm around his shoulder, Dean's mouth still dripping whatever the hell the black stuff was that he'd spewed up minutes before. He'd held back from bending down to the man, expecting his brother to be first there. Sam was, but there was no panic on his part. He lifted Dean quite roughly and Samuel expected him to pull his brother into a hug, but instead Dean leaned back eyeing Sam carefully. He saw him pat Dean on the chest encouragingly, almost in a congratulation, showing approval. As he might do if he'd scored a home run. Or cooked a great barbeque. Either way, a job well done.

He watched as Sam muttered to his brother, attempting to drag him to his feet. Dean looked into his younger brother's eyes and Samuel held up a hand to the younger hunter.

"Sam."

Sam frowned back at him, giving him that look that he had. He was getting used to the expressions; this was the one that looked a bit like an Alsatian that had been told to stop scratching at the door – confusion. With a smattering of contempt.

"Give him a minute."

Sam settled back a little, his brother breathing hard between them. Dean was still eyeing Sam and Samuel was sure he felt him leaning back into him. Dean looked at his brother like he was a stranger. Maybe he just wanted to catch his breath and it was his way of telling him that he appreciated that. But what that didn't explain was the look of standoffish iciness on the older man's face.

"Sure. Sure. Of course." Sam stuttered. Samuel gave him a warning look. He knew the man hated to wait. He'd known him a year and in that time, Sam was always on the move, never in a place for more than twenty minutes than he had to be, and the most direct, sometimes verging on rude, person he'd ever met. Which had its uses. Sam definitely got the job done. And he was either showing a total lack of compassion for his big brother, or just not realising that not everybody was quite at such a physical peak as he was. He hoped it was the latter.

He couldn't help but wonder what Mary and John would have made of the boy.

Dean on the other hand was more like his Mary. He had principles. He protected the innocent. He had the same drive as his brother, but not as… dare he say it. Hard. He shuddered a little at the nagging memory he had of the afternoon that he and Sam had discussed the vampire cure. And how Sam _knew_ it was absolutely imperative it was that Dean didn't drink any human blood after he was turned. And he didn't tell him.

If Dean hadn't had such a strong regard for human life that meant he'd been able to resist the pumping of blood echoing in his ears, Samuel'd have been lopping the head off Mary's eldest son today. And wouldn't be sure whether it was her youngest's fault.

Something else nagged him. He couldn't help but wonder that if it had been the younger brother who'd been turned, whether Sam would have fought that desire and refused to feed. In fact, he was almost certain that if the tables had been turned, the big guy's head would have had to roll. If they'd ever caught him. Sam's so freakin' strong.

And the lie came so easy. Samuel knew it was Sam he'd had the conversation with. He just lied, right to his face. _It must've been Christian._ Like he believed it himself. And the way he reacted in front of his brother. Like he'd never considered that the change in Dean wasn't permanent. And he was far too okay with it.

The guy's been to hell and back. Literally. Maybe he wasn't paying attention when they had the conversation. But if he'd really forgotten, then Sam should have been expecting him to come to take off his brother's head too. Samuel just thanked his lucky stars (and whatever else) that he hadn't turned up to find Sam sitting with a machete in his hand and his brother's blood on the other, it being the only logical thing to do.

He felt Dean leaning into him and watched Sam stand up straight, sensing him almost physically itching to get the hell outta there, excuse the pun. He normally agreed; getting as far away from the vamp nest as fast as possible would have his vote every time. But he'd used this cure before. And his eldest grandson was in for a tough night.

"Ready to move, Dean?" he asked.

Sam was pacing.

Dean gave a slow nod which Samuel took to be an affirmative and stood up, Dean leaning on his left shoulder. He felt Dean grab him by the front of his shirt and lurch forward, heaving. Shit.

He clapped Dean on the back and rubbed in circles, reassuring him that he was gonna be fine but he probably had a few hours of feeling like crap on toast to contend with. He knew Dean was tough enough to deal with it. He'd taken on a full nest and won. Samuel looked up at Sam, who watched as Dean coughed his guts up with an expression of irritation. Dean started to take deep breaths at Samuel's suggestion, finally standing up straight.

"Sam."

No response.

"Sam. Help me get him in the van. We've gotta get him back to the motel."

"Is he gonna be okay?"

At last, some concern. It sounded half genuine.

"He'll probably throw up for the next few hours and if he's unlucky he'll have one hell of a fever. Eight hours or so and you should have your big brother back."

"Eight hours?" The irritation was back.

"With a bit of luck he'll sleep through the majority of it. He'll be fine in the morning."

"I'm still here, you know.". A gruff voice sounding like it'd been chewing on glass joined the conversation. "Get me out of here." Dean stood himself up a little straighter and tried to look like he wasn't pleading, rummaging in his pocket and handing something out to Sam. His car keys.

"Drive my car back, Sam."

"Sure." Sam pulled Dean's arm over his shoulder, with a glance, or was it a glare, towards Samuel. Samuel stiffened, feeling that Sam was suddenly re-establishing ownership over his brother. Well, kid, thought Samuel, not right now. He stays with me. Because I'm not quite sure where you are at the moment.

Samuel could feel the shakiness still in Dean's knees. Hell, the guy had practically died; you could forgive him feeling a little unsure of his feet. Stopping next to where they'd parked the van, Dean stopped, leaning against the window and breathing hard. Sam seemed put out, telling his brother that he assumed he wanted to ride in the Impala. Especially since the van was covered in blood from their earlier encounter with the vamps.

Dean didn't answer and glanced towards Samuel. Samuel wasn't sure whether it was a 'help me out here' look, or something else. He wasn't too good at interpreting emotions, particularly in these two. He chose to take it as a plea, rather than miss it and get it wrong again.

"Dean's ridin' with me, Sam."

"Surely that's up to Dean." Sam's voice was cold again, any hint of genuine concern gone.

"I've seen this cure before. He's better off with me. If the fever starts before we get him back -"

"I can take care of my brother." Sam's voice was slow and deliberate. His earlier words ghosted through Samuel's memory. _What's wrong with you?_

"Please, Sam…" Dean interrupted the conversation. "Just… just take my car. I wanna get outta here before I've gotta hurl again." He tried to grin, the pain on his face evident. "Plus, I'm not gettin' in my baby covered in vamp blood. I'd rather wreck Grandpa's upholstery."

Sam didn't make a further comment as he skulked back to the Impala, the tyres squealing and not stopping to make sure that Dean and Samuel were in the other vehicle.

"How you doin' Dean?" Samuel eyed his grandson carefully when they got outside. "You okay to get in?"

Dean swallowed hard and nodded, opening the door. He settled himself back into the passenger seat and rolled his head towards his grandfather.

"Please tell me the worst of it's over."

Samuel grimaced. "The worst is. But you've got a rough few hours to come."

"Like, I shouldn't have had that last shot of Jack rough, or shoot me through the head right now rough?"

"Not like the actual turning back, but you'll be pretty sick for the next few hours at least. You should be fine by morning." Samuel opened the van door for his grandson. "Something to do with the sun coming up I guess."

Dean groaned.

"Just tell me if you're gonna hurl again. I know this ain't exactly a show n' shine set of wheels but I don't really want to be mopping them out tomorrow."

"I'm okay. Just take me back." Dean's voice had become flat, dead. Just like his brother's. What was with these guys?

Samuel started the van, wanting to quiz Dean, but knowing that he should probably wait. What the hell. Dean wasn't sure of him anyway; he was hardly going to destroy a relationship with a man who didn't trust him in the first place, and wasn't likely to any time soon. Although, he'd just chosen him over his brother.

But after Sam's odd actions over the last couple of days, he couldn't blame him.

"Why aren't you riding with Sam?"

Dean had his eyes closed and head leaned back as far as he could get it, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. Crap, thought Samuel, he's not going to get away with it. "I'm covered in vamp blood and god only knows what other shit. I just cleaned the Impala."

Samuel sighed, slightly exasperated. He knew Dean would never talk to him. He didn't trust him. Who would; suddenly he's faced with a Grandfather who died at least thirty years ago, who can't explain his sudden arrival back into the fold of his family. And with him comes his little brother who, from what he can gather, isn't acting as Dean expects. Samuel had never known Sam any different. But he had to do something to get his eldest grandson on side. Maybe tonight was the night.

"Okay, Dean, I get it. You don't trust me. You're not going to talk to me. But without me today, work out where you'd be. Someone would have had to take that pretty head off your shoulders. What were you gonna do, show up at Bobby's? Because you know full well your brother wasn't going to help you with this."

"I know. And… thanks. I guess."

"You're welcome."

"Did Sam know?" Dean's voice was hesitant. Did he want the answer?

"Know what?" Samuel stared straight ahead. Play dumb, he thought.

"Sam. Did he know I could be turned back?"

"I don't know, Dean." Where to go with this one, he wondered… can't give him all the information. "He swears he didn't."

"Awesome." Dean turned back towards the window.

"What?"

"I don't know whether that's better or worse."

RDGRDGRDGRDG

Samuel looked up at the dated curtains and quietly mulled over his situation. Dated. Huh. Pretty damn modern by his standards. And finally back – and he didn't just mean to the motel. After so many years of looking for a way, he'd finally been handed it. Well… handed wasn't the phrase, he guessed. He had no memory of these guys as his grandsons. He had a vague memory of Dean showing up before Azazel possessed him. And he had no recollection of his death. He just knew that he wasn't finished. Not by a long shot.

But the complications… he never banked on this. And being presented with his grandson as a hunting partner to fulfil the 'terms' of the agreement wasn't quite what he expected. And Sam wasn't what he expected. He was the most ruthless hunter he'd ever come across. He'd like to think all Campbell. Jeez… he'd thought _he_ was hard. But Sam. Sam was something else. And he never knew exactly what Sam had been through and what he'd come across in the twenty seven years that he'd lived the life. But he knew… well. That they'd arrived back on firm ground via two _very_ different bus routes.

Sam had been adamant about leaving his brother behind the white picket fence for the past year. Determined that he didn't want him back working with him and that he deserved to be out of the lifestyle. That they didn't need him there. And just occasionally he'd see something in Sam that was more what he expected, more like Mary. The times where he came back and told him that Dean was fine. That he'd got a job. That he was taking the kid… whatshis name… Ben, to baseball and back. That he'd got a new lawnmower. But most of the time, he didn't talk. He worked. Continuously. He pumped iron. Obsessively. And the guy was in peak condition physically – he could have been a magazine centrefold. Not that he really knew much about that… but he couldn't help but notice that society was a little more, well, open than he remembered. He'd love to say that Mary would be proud of his dedication and his attitude. Shit, _he_ was.

But he knew that Sam had become everything that his daughter didn't want for her kids. And he didn't have a clue what John would have wanted, but he'd have taken a punt on it not being too far from what Mary was aiming for. He knew how that pretty, idealistic kid that Mary had been all doe-eyed over had turned out – he'd found out what was really out there and had to man up all of a sudden. And he knew that the catalyst for this, for John, was his daughter being killed by the demon that had possessed and killed him. But the rest of it… he knew that Mary had been turned into a demon barbeque long before Sam was out of diapers. And Sam didn't talk about it.

Maybe Dean… maybe Dean was where he was going to get his answers from. About what the hell (no pun) had gone on in his missing thirty years. What Johnboy was playing at with his half assed hunting that only knew a fraction of the goddamn answers. Or, if he did know, why he hadn't armed these boys properly. Jeez, in sixteen years of hunting, Dean hadn't known about the vamp cure? He reckoned they were probably none the wiser about werewolves either. Sam wasn't too interested in that kinda stuff. He was more into the bigger picture. He understood, they had to be. They had a job to do. But there was no harm in helping out a few people as they went by. Especially when it came to their own.

And speaking of his youngest grandson, where the friggin' hell had he got to? He glanced over to the bed furthest from the door where Dean lay, pawing and kicking weakly at the bedclothes. His hands and face were still bloodstained; by the time they got back to the motel room he'd sunk onto the bed, shivering. Samuel had managed to get him to take his boots, jacket and filthy jeans off but the rest of what he was wearing remained, including his socks, and he was part way through the hours of crap that he knew they were waiting on. He yawned… I'm too old for this, he thought, pausing not for the first time to ponder how old that was exactly. Fifty four? Eighty four? He wasn't quite sure where he stood on the missing thirty years. He certainly didn't feel old enough to have grandchildren out of strollers, never mind old enough to drive that ridiculous car of Winchester's. He should have been meeting these boys as infants, taking care of them whilst Mary went out to work… helping his wife with his daughter's first baby.

Yeah right. Like Mary would have let him anywhere near a precious baby of hers. She wanted out. He walked over to the bed, not really knowing what to do. The big guy in front of him wasn't just another injured hunter. Mary's boy. But he couldn't treat him any differently. Couldn't let himself get attached. Because he certainly wasn't to have that reciprocated. Sam had proved that with his careful, guarded approach to their relationship. Why should his brother be any different?

He reached a hand down to Dean's forehead, sure that he heard him murmur the word 'Sammy'. Deciding not to acknowledge the word for fear of awkwardness, he ignored Dean's muttering and instead concentrated on the heat emanating from his body. Jeez, you could fry an egg on him… he shook him by the shoulders, wincing a little at his filthy state. Fluids. About the only thing he could do.

"Dean."

No response.

"Dean."

Shake harder. He won't break. No worse than he already had, anyway.

"Dean. Come on now." His voice was commanding. "Wake up. You need to drink this." He threatened him with a glass of water from the nightstand and shook him again. Dean started to open his eyes. "One glass, then you can go straight back to sleep."

Dean moaned and tried to lift himself onto his elbows. Samuel offered a glance upwards, just thankful that the shivering had stopped.

"I can't." Dean's voice was gravelly. More than usual.

"Not a question, it's an order, Dean." Samuel had no idea how much he sounded like Dean's father. "Come on. You know this is for your own good. You think I get a kick outta this?"

A flash of what he thought could be hatred shone through Dean's green eyes and he was sure that he was pouting. Wanting to say something along the lines of 'don't try that with me young man, it'll never work' but knowing that Dean was… what was he? Thirty? He tried to sound a little less angry. "Come on. Take the glass."

"I'll puke," Dean replied, his voice laced with determination.

"You won't. I've watched hunters through this night a coupla times before. That finished about an hour ago."

"Well I don't feel like it did." His voice rasped and he cradled his stomach, his muscles clearly burning from either being drop kicked by the vamp, the fight in the nest, being turned, turning back or just spending the last two hours forcing the entire contents of his stomach lining into a trash can. He wasn't sure what would hurt the most. A little of the aggression dropped out of Dean's voice as he eyed Samuel nervously. He caught him glancing around the room. And trying to look like he wasn't.

"Your brother's just stepped out for a minute. He's not gone far." Well, no further than he could have got in that car in the last few hours, he added to himself. Who'm I kidding. He could be anywhere. Dean's shoulders slumped a little to Samuel's bemusement. Had he really thought that Sam would be here? Dean started to sip the water reticently, giving Samuel a look that he took to mean that if he had lied to him, and he did hurl again, then it wouldn't be the last that he heard of it. "You'll feel better for it. Trust me."

Perceptive or not, he sensed this wasn't the phrase that would get the best out of Dean Winchester. Mental note for the future.

Dean kicked at the comforter that covered his feet, realising with irritation that he was sticky and filthy and boiling hot and just felt… _bad._ "Man, why am I still wearin' my socks…" he moaned.

Samuel gave him as much of a smile as he could muster at three thirty in the morning. "You weren't really being compliant with the gettin' in bed thing earlier. And the rest of your clothes are covered in vamp insides."

Dean shuffled to the edge of his bed, looking as white as someone spattered with blood could possibly look.

"What're you doin?"

"I… wanna clean up. I feel gross."

"You look gross."

Dean mustered half a smile and Samuel couldn't help but think that they'd maybe, just maybe, bonded a little. "Leave the door open. You hit the deck with that fever and I'm not up to breaking down a door and then hauling your ass back to bed. I'm potentially in my eighties, you know."

"Not to mention you've been dead for thirty years."

Dean shuffled into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him. Maybe the bond needed a little work.

RDGRDGRDGRDGRDGRDGRDGRDG

"Where the hell did you get to, Sam?"

"What?" Sam flung his jacket onto the table and glanced down at his brother, sleeping fairly peacefully in a clean white t-shirt. "He okay?"

"He's doin' better." Samuel stood up square to his grandson.

Sam looked mildly hurt at his grandfather's aggressive stance. But that really didn't concern Samuel. Sam had vanished. For three hours. In the middle of the night. With his brother hurt.

"What did I do?"

"Nothing."

"Well, did you need me? I thought you had this one. You said he'd be fine."

"Yeah, well I think maybe he needed someone a little bit more familiar to be holding the bucket rather than a guy he's not sure if he trusts."

"Well… maybe you needed it. Prove that you're in it for the long haul. Bonding. You know. Besides, I had stuff to do."

"Like what?"

"Like checking that this case is really over. Last thing we need is the vamps that weren't in the nest when Dean wiped the rest out coming for us. Particularly with him like this."

Samuel sighed, knowing that the younger man had a point as Sam nodded over to his comatose brother. Always functional. But he'd thought this might bring out… something in the younger brother. Ah… here goes… Sam strode over to the bed and placed a strong hand on his brothers forehead and two fingers on his wrist. Dean murmured but settled as Sam deftly placed his hand back.

"See. He's fine. Pulse is steady – ish, bit of a fever. He's had worse from the flu."

Samuel huffed, feeling more than a little frustrated in trying to get Sam to realise what he'd expected of him. Perhaps… perhaps it was just young men nowadays. Too macho for their own good. Sam was taking off his jacket and jeans and settled himself back on his bed. Again, that confused puppy dog look as Samuel clearly eyed him with some distaste.

"What's up? Do you wanna get a coupla hours first? Thought you'd have rested up already."

Yeah, whilst I was dealing with your half-dead brother? He considered whether to get into the argument with sam. It's not worth it, he thought. He regarded the younger grandson. He wasn't being cold. Or uncaring. It was like… it was like he didn't understand. Like, his capacity for human emotion had just been taken from him. He waved at the air, indicating to Sam to do whatever it was that he felt like doing. He settled back into the uncomfortable chair. "So was there anything to report?"

"Coupla stragglers, been out recruiting when Dean knocked on with his girl scout cookies earlier." Sam yawned, lying flat on the bed. "They're dealt with".

"And what about the nest?"

Sam leaned up on an elbow. "None left who know what's going on. There'll be another nest."

"And who's goin' into that one? Christian? Me? Or is your brother the expert now?"

Sam sighed, almost with pity. "Samuel. I told you. I'm sorry it had to happen. But when it had…"

"You thought 'what the hell'."

"I don't like that phrase."

"Bet you don't."

"But, yeah. It worked to our advantage. And he'll be fine. And tomorrow we might be a bit closer to that Alpha. Dean'll have picked the intel up. He's good. I swear." Sam lay back on his pillow again. "Long day again tomorrow, Samuel."

So conversation over then. Great

The chink of a glass on the side of the sink woke Samuel, who had succumbed to slumber at somewhere around four thirty in the morning. A very distant memory of nights in motels and sleeping in cars, vans and dining chairs fleeted over his vision as he straightened his neck.

But he realised he wasn't alone. He'd never hunted with anyone else, but a strong figure stood hunched over the sink, sipping a glass of water. Dean. And suddenly he was aware again of the missing thirty years and his adult, problematic, grandsons being in the room with him. And the weight of the 'terms and conditions' he'd accepted to get himself put back there suddenly ploughed down onto his shoulders.

"Hey, Dean."

The figure at the sink lifted his head slowly, turning around in the breaking dawn light. He looked beaten.

"Hey."

"Feelin' better, son?"

He thought he saw Dean grimace at the phrase, making Samuel think that he'd not quite earned that privilege with Dean yet. He was a tough one.

"Like I've been hit by a truck." He grinned slightly. "So yeah, much better."

"Good."

A deafening silence fell over the room. Samuel didn't know what to say. He watched Dean's gaze fall onto his brother, seemingly fast asleep in the opposite bed to him. He must have seen him like that hundreds, thousands of times. Yet he seemed uncomfortable.

"He finished the vamps off." He felt like he had to defend him. "Got back when you'd crashed out." Not quite defensive enough, he thought. "He was worried about you."

Dean swilled a mouthful of water around his mouth thoughtfully before swallowing, turning back to his grandfather.

"You sure about that?"

"Course he was, Dean. He's your brother."

Dean didn't respond. He did, however, look back towards the other bed again, dejection all over his face and for a moment, Samuel thought Dean didn't look a day younger than his own however many years Samuel had clocked up. Jeez, this kid's had it tough.

"He'll be up soon. You gonna get another coupla hours shut eye?"

Dean considered his options and ran a hand through his hair, walking gingerly towards the bathroom. "I'm gonna shower. Cos I guess me and him'll be hittin' the road as soon as he's run his hands through what passes for a haircut." He paused. "No point in me headin home, anyway." His voice fell.

"I guess you've had better ideas than goin' seein that girl of yours?"

Dean's chin dropped to his chest. Jeez, thought Samuel. I tried to keep a family safe through this life. It's never gonna work. He couldn't help but think that even if Dean never saw the woman, or the kid, again, the probability was that they'd end up dead anyway purely because some monster, somewhere, needed one up on Dean Winchester. So many hunters had lost everything. He kinda thought he was lucky. He never lost it all. He went as part of his daughter losing, well, not everything. He was something that someone else lost. John gave her two kids before the demon caught up with her, and eventually, well, the hunter's took him, and would take them too. Eventually. Dean was just starting the cycle again with the boy. With Ben. He didn't know too much about Dean's family. He couldn't. He didn't want to. Didn't want anything else that could be used against him and make him weak.

Dean sniffed back, looking up at the ceiling. No tears, please. Blood and puke he could do. Tears and emotion, no thank you. His shoulders stiffened, hoping he wasn't about to have to go all, what was the TV guy called, oh yeah, Dr Phil, on his grandson. Luckily Dean exhaled slowly and looked away.

"He could've stopped it, you know."

Dean wasn't looking at him. Shit.

He knew it. Knew there was something going on.

"Stopped what?" Stay deadpan, Samuel told himself. Make sure we're on the same page.

Dean looked back. "The vamp."

"Sam said he was too fast. Couldn't catch him. That the guy was huge."

"He watched." Dean's eyes met Samuel's, searching for a reaction. Samuel concentrated on not giving one.

"Watched what, Dean?" His voice was quiet.

Dean's voice dropped to a whisper, suddenly conscious that his brother was sleeping in the bed over the room. Dean shot a look to the bed, ensuring that Sam's chest still rose and fell, proving he was asleep. Dean couldn't be fooled by Sam pretending to sleep. Or at least, he never used to. Anger flashed through his green eyes, coupled with welled up tears. "He stood and watched. At the end of the street whilst the bastard turned me. Bled into my mouth. He watched him…" Dean's voice hiccupped and rose a little louder than he intended to, Samuel shushing him by motioning to be quiet to him with his hands. Dean drew in a deep breath, composing himself. "He let it do it. What kind of brother – what kind of anyone – lets someone do that to someone else?"

He felt his chest rise in anger. He knew it. Knew that there was something wrong. But he'd hoped to God that Dean didn't know it. Dean scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, clearly annoyed with himself for letting it get the better of him. He leaned on the counter top, breathing heavily, trying to slow down his rage.

"Dean."

"What? Tell me how the freakin' hell he could stand there and let it and do that to anyone? He let me put Lisa in danger, Samuel."

"He didn't let you do anything, Dean."

"He –" Dean lowered his voice again, noticing Sam stretch one of his long legs over his bed. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this."

"Because you want to know if I think the same as you do."

Dean seemed taken aback. Samuel's voice was quiet, deliberate. Dean carefully sat down opposite his grandfather, strangely not uncomfortable at the fact that he was effectively wearing only his underwear.

"So do you?"

I can't tell him, he thought. Can't tell him that sometimes, well, more often than he'd like, Sam worries him. Can't tell him that he can only fleetingly see his daughter in him. Can't tell him that if he's keeping the same kind of secrets that I am, then he's probably dangerous. He looked into Dean's green eyes, which, thankfully, weren't teary anymore.

"He worries me. Sometimes."

"Like… like there's something wrong with him?"

Despite never knowing him as a kid, Samuel suddenly saw Dean ten years old. Innocent. Wanting an answer to a question but knowing that the truth probably wasn't something that he wanted to hear.

"I don't know, kid. He's obviously been through some stuff. Stuff that he won't talk about. Stuff that it's almost like he doesn't remember. And he's driven. He just needs to get to the bottom of as much evil as possible and wipe it out."

"Driven? He's never been so driven at everyone else's expense." Dean almost scoffed.

"I can't explain it. Surely he's not that different." He hoped.

"You've no idea." Dean put his head in his hands.

"He just… just thinks he's got a job to do, Dean. And he's doing his best with it. And he needs you to keep him on the straight and narrow. Hunting with you gives him some perspective back. Don't stop doing that."

Dean opened his mouth. And closed it again. Whatever it was that his grandson was going to say to him, he thought better of. Samuel stood up, ready to start packing his gear as the sun rose. He clapped Dean on the shoulder, watching him pad gently into the bathroom.

Starting to pack his duffle, he noticed Sam start to stir and looked carefully at him. Was he different? As in, any different to how he's been over the last year?

He knew he had secrets. He must have. Because he had his own. But not at anyone else's expense. Not innocent people, anyway. He hadn't believed for one minute that Sam didn't know how he ended up… back. Because he knew full well the terms of his return. And expected that Sam had a similar deal. Well, not a deal. Not in the usual Campbell sense anyway. Maybe agreement was more the term.

He'd met Sam and wanted him on his side. And until now, he hadn't questioned that he was. But something was off, wrong. And if he'd do that to his brother…

Samuel was seriously going to be watching his back.


End file.
